Dead are my dreams, lifeless. 
without managing to recover 
from the imperfections of the being, 
of the breath, of the existence. 
Dry my bones, 
hollow my meat, 
without the hope 
of an uncertain future.
Moulted are my reflections, 
for finally the words finished with me , 
and my pen ran out of ink, 
and my hand got tired of drawing lines. 
Dead are my dreams, 
in pathetic loneliness my soul, 
weary my walk, 
short my step, 
dead my youth, 
soon the sunset.
_______________
 

Finally walking to heaven, is there bright like I think? it could be dark, maybe it's pink, but by walking to the light, I am leaving my phisical pain. I can feel the clouds touching my body, or it's just the sensation when I am leaving my body?

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